


You And Me Both

by Space_and_Thyme



Series: You Are My Lucky Star [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Domestic Fluff, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 00:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_and_Thyme/pseuds/Space_and_Thyme
Summary: They're finally off the Ferris Wheel... but the last train has already left, and it's a long walk back to Red Hook...But, one thing leads to another, and by the time they make it back to their apartment the tension has to give.Fluff and smut ensues.





	You And Me Both

**Author's Note:**

> So this one immediately follows "Now Or Never", but it's unlikely that the works in this series are going to go chronologically from now on. I will just post them as I write them, as I have ideas. But I promise I will always tag what era it is, and I will always start the fics with the date... at the very least, with the year. *thumbs up*

_July 2 nd, 1937._

_11:15 pm._

They were stuck on the Wonder Wheel until eleven o’clock. Considering the fireworks were set off at 9:30, at which point they had already been on the Ferris Wheel for roughly an hour... it had been a long night.

 

If it wasn’t for the heights, it wouldn’t have been so bad – truthfully it _wasn’t_ bad. Bucky had made the experience less terrifying by stretching himself across the carriage and pressing against the metal – using his size and weight to stabilize the swinging of the small cage that held them 150 feet aloft. Better yet, though, was the sudden knowledge that the world _didn’t_ end when Steve finally could no longer contain his love. That Bucky had loved him for years – and that he’d been telling him without using the words.

 

And, now that Steve looked back, it was obvious.

 

Bucky might not have been much of a poet when it came to declarations of love – and claimed not to be much of a romantic either, but he said it in other ways. He had professed his love the day of Sarah Roger’s funeral – by telling Steve that he was with him _till the end of the line_ \- that he didn’t have to do it all alone. He’d confirmed in the following morning when he showed up at Steve’s door with a few boxes of books, and a rucksack of his clothing. Bucky had moved out of George and Winnifred Barnes’ home that morning. That was three years ago.

 

Bucky showed it in everything he did for Steve – whether it was as simple and monotonous as tidying up their apartment when Steve’s artworks and general existence had spread a little too far – running the risk of his artwork being destroyed by trampling feet. Whether it was the fact that Bucky cooked for Steve, even when he was bone weary from his job on the docks – whether it was the fact that he _worked_ the job at the docks just so he could be sure that Steve was taken care of.

 

Bucky showed his love in his acquiescence to each and every request made by Steve regarding his artwork. Bucky had, without question, posed and modeled for Steve. Bucky had _always_ sat and posed for Steve; had never questioned it when Steve sat across from him, sketching furiously. He knew well enough to remain relatively still when Steve was buried in his sketchbooks. This was true, even during moments that should have been out of the question – Bucky quickly washing himself at the sink after a long shift, Bucky sleeping soundly, his face completely relaxed. Bucky after a boxing match, pealing the wraps off of his hands. Bucky’s body, lying naked in bed as he slept away the heat of a summer’s day. Of course, that was a drawing that Bucky was unaware of – as Steve had quietly ensured that Bucky would never know about it – though, Bucky must have had an inkling – as he’d awoken with Steve still sitting in a chair across from him while he put his pencils away. All Bucky had done was stretch himself out, languid, like a great cat, as his back arched off the mattress. If he’d suspected, he’d said nothing, merely pulling himself out of bed and dressing as he asked what Steve wanted for dinner.

 

But the real declaration of love and trust, at least in regards to allowing himself to be captured on paper, had come two years earlier, in 1935 – when Steve had started art school. Because of Steve’s less than stellar health, there were frequently missed projects, missed assignments, missed experience of life drawing. His grades had begun to slip, to the point that his continued enrollment in the school was in question.  He _needed_ the hours in front of a model. His professor had given him the chance to make-up for the lost time outside of school hours – but it meant that he’d needed a model. Steve had been too embarrassed to ask Bucky, so his marks continued to fall. Until Bucky happened to open a letter from the dean without realizing, as he opened their meagre mail – expecting it to be a fee invoice for Steve’s tuition. Instead it was a notice that if he didn’t _immediately_ turn in a series of _at least_ ten two-hour-long drawings he would be expelled from the program. The news hadn’t gone over well, and they’d argued for a few minutes until Bucky managed to pry from Steve why he hadn’t just _asked_ him to model for him, since he constantly drew him anyway. Steve had turned the colour of a ripe tomato, and finally shot back that it was because he needed a _nude_ model to pose for him.

 

Bucky had stared at him for a moment, without shock or disgust, and repeated his words “Again… why didn’t you just ask?” the issue settled, Bucky let Steve direct him where he would be best located, before he stripped himself down and fell into the pose that Steve had described. The poses were not necessarily what would traditionally be thought of as _masculine_ – of course Steve set aside a few that _did_ match that description – flexing muscles, boxing stance, etc. the rest were beautiful in a different way. Bucky draped across the couch (the only answer they had to a proper daybed) in a supine posture - body elongated and muscles relaxed until he looked like a Neo-Classical daydream – Eros, laid bare before Psyche. He’d held still for each of the drawings – only dropping the pose, even though the pressure on his muscles to remain looking perfectly loose often became painful, when Steve told him that he could move. He’d held still even when Steve hesitantly approached him to brush a lock of his dark hair off of his face to better see his eye. He’d held still and allowed himself to be committed to paper, to memory, in such intimate ways, that it still floored Steve.

 

Steve, in the end, turned in a series of _thirty_ , two-hour-each, drawings of Bucky. It had taken two weeks, given that there were only so many hours available to them in the gap between when Bucky came home from work, and when Steve could no longer keep his eyes open.  But, Steve’s professor had loved the works, and had removed the black mark from his file – Steve’s place in the school was safe.

 

Bucky had shown his love in so many ways, daily, for years. It was only in hindsight that Steve could see it – and he wished he’d understood sooner. They’d already missed three years in which they could have been together, whatever that truly meant.

 

The one other great thing about being stuck at the top of the Wonder Wheel, despite being terrified of the height, was that Steve was able to bury himself into Bucky’s chest. Too afraid to look out at the dark after the fireworks had ended, too in love to not touch as much of Bucky as he could in public (not enough – even burying his face in his shoulder had to be done carefully), Steve closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s narrow but strong waist – hugging him tightly.

 

Finally at eleven, the operators were able to get the mechanics working again. The Wonder Wheel jerked back into motion, and their cage jumped back to life – pulling them backwards over the peak of the circumference. Steve gasped and squeezed Bucky a little tighter.  Seven minutes later, they were finally allowed out of the cage, safely on the ground.

 

“What time’s it?” Steve yawned as they walked – Coney Island had all but become deserted.

 

“Late…” Bucky responded before he lifted his wrist and looked at the watch. “After eleven.”

 

“… definitely missed the train…” Steve sighed softly. “Gonna be a long walk…” he rubbed at his face a little, forcing himself to wake back up.

 

“Nah.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders easily. “I can carry ya, if ya want.”

 

Steve snorted indignantly. “I can walk on my _own_ , Buck.” He nearly snapped, his cheeks flushing pink, even in the barely-lit nightscape.

 

“Never said ya couldn’t, just that I’ll carry ya if ya want.”

 

“I’ll be _fine_ , Buck.” Again, he was indignant. Bucky rolled his eyes – it was an almost three hour walk back to their Red Hook apartment from Coney Island.

 

By one thirty in the morning, Steve was sore and exhausted. His feet were like lead, lead that was probably blistering thanks to the newspapers he had to wear in his shoes. He was starting to stumble – his muscles straining and easily tired – still he wouldn’t admit it. They still had just under an hour left before they were home.

 

Bucky watched him with a sideways glance. Watched Steve try to keep pace with him – even when Bucky had slowed down to a near crawl. They were on 20th Street, just passing the last edge of Greenwood Heights, when Bucky couldn’t take it watching Steve stumble along any more. 

 

He sighed softly and stopped in his tracks, reaching out and catching Steve’s shoulder. He squeezed gently. “Hey, pal…”

 

Steve looked up, and for just a moment couldn’t mask the look of pain and exhaustion on his face. He schooled himself quickly, but it wasn’t before Bucky had caught sight of it. “What?”

 

“Come on pal… we got an hour to go and you’re already stumble-bumming around…”

 

“I’m _fine-_ “

 

“Yeah… no you’re not, you’re walkin’ like a drunk. Don’t argue.” Bucky stepped passed Steve, and turned so his back was to his best friend. He crouched a little, dropping both his centre of gravity, and making himself short enough to be of benefit to Steve. His thighs and hips were already burning from both the two hour walk, and their day at Coney Island, but he could ignore it for now. He’d just be sore in the morning – thankfully it was Saturday and he had no scheduled shift until Monday morning.

 

Steve just stared at him for a moment, eyes tiredly raking over Bucky’s form. He knew what Bucky expected, but it was _humiliating_. “Buck, _no_ … I’m not a kid any more-“

 

“Stevie, for Christ’s sake! Ain’t nobody out here but you and me – ain’t no one gonna see us. And even if they did, they’d just think you’re a lush!” He panted slightly. “Get on my back!” Bucky shot him a glare over his shoulder.

 

Steve swallowed tightly and finally conceded with a nod and a sigh. He hopped slightly, putting his arms around Bucky’s shoulders from behind, and awkwardly hooked his thin legs around Bucky’s waist. “This is humiliating…” He grumbled softly, next to Bucky’s right ear as he held him close.

 

Bucky hooked his arms under Steve’s knees as he stood up slowly. He easily tossed his smaller friend up, ever so slightly, to rearrange the position of the 95lbs weight on his back. Steve clung a little tighter. “Yeah well… humiliatin’s better than your feet bleedin’, pal.”

 

“Yeah…” Steve sighed and fell silent for a moment as Bucky started walking along 20th Street again – they’d be turning onto 3rd Avenue in a few moments.

 

The night air was quiet – everyone in their right mind was already asleep for the night. Honestly, it felt like the two of them were the only two people in the world. And, for right now… that was all that they needed. A cozy, amiable, quiet had descended over them. Steve dropped his face against the back of Bucky’s shoulder, smiling softly against the warm, sweat-damp, cotton of Bucky’s shirt. His arms tightened around Bucky’s shoulders tenderly as Steve closed his eyes, focusing on the soothing warmth of Bucky’s body against his…

 

A slight blush bloomed on his cheeks a moment later, as he realized he’d let his mind wander just a little too far. He quietly cleared his throat, and just continued to hold onto Bucky as the man carried him along 3rd Avenue.

 

With a little luck, Bucky wouldn’t notice Steve’s half-hard erection brushing infrequently against his back while he carried him.

 

Bucky shifted Steve’s weight again, pulling him in tighter against his back as he pushed Steve up a little higher. Steve squeezed his eyes shut – there was simply _no_ way in which Bucky missed the slide of Steve’s erection along the curve of his spine that time. Swallowing tightly, half from embarrassment and half from arousal, Steve nuzzled into Bucky’s neck and just held onto him tightly.

 

“Y’alright, pal?” Bucky hummed softly as he walked. “Feels like your heart is beatin’ outta your chest.” Though his tone was easy, Bucky _was_ worried. “Palpitations startin’? Need me ta stop walkin’?”

 

Steve shook his head, “I’m okay, Buck.”

 

“Ya sure? Cause I can stop-“

 

Steve was blushing, terribly. “It’s not palpitations, Buck…”

 

“Then wha— _oh_.”

 

Steve groaned in embarrassment. Bucky, despite his fatigue, started laughing. “I shoulda known, pal. Happens every time I carry ya.”

 

“Shut up…”

 

“We’re almost home anyway.”

 

“If ya count 3rd Avenue with another hour ta go _‘almost home’_ , then yeah.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but kept on walking.

 

They finally reached their Red Hook apartment an hour later. It was three in the morning by the time Bucky slouched Steve off of his back as he fitted the key into the lock. His muscles were buzzing, and burning, but he wouldn’t have replaced the last seventeen hours for anything. Despite spending three hours walking home from Coney Island, and almost three hours stuck at the top of the Wonder Wheel. None of that mattered, because he had Stevie.

 

He pushed the door and stepped aside with a slight stumble as Steve slowly staggered into the dark apartment. Bucky followed a moment later, closing and locking the door behind himself. Without going any further, Bucky slid down the front door until he was sitting on the floor, where he immediately started unlacing his cap toed oxfords. Pulling his shoes off, along with his socks, he set them aside and stretched his legs out in a wide V, sighing in relief at the gentle stretch of his tired muscles. He rest his head back against the front door with his eyes closed. He had zero desire to get back up.

 

But, Steve stumbled out to him a moment later – divested of his dress shirt, trousers, and shoes – wearing only his undershirt and boxers. He was bone weary, that much was painfully obvious, and his feet were burning where the newspapers inside his shoes had rubbed at the calluses on the balls of his feet. He stood over Bucky, in the v of his legs, for a moment. “Buck… come on, I know it’s hard but ya gotta get up.”

 

“I could sleep right here…”

 

“Yeah and you’ll wake up in the mornin’, stiffer than a board and twice as gnarled.”

 

Bucky snorted, loudly, immediately starting to chuckle at Steve’s attempted gripe. “Yeah, you’re right… alright, punk, help me up.”

 

Steve instantly gave Bucky his hand. To his credit, Bucky allowed Steve to bear _a little_ of his weight as he pushed himself up off of the floor. Once Bucky was upright, Steve immediately tucked himself into his side – one arm around his back, as the other hand laid over Bucky’s taut belly – in an effort to offer his support. It also gave Steve an excuse to touch Bucky, again.

 

Bucky leaned ever so slightly against Steve as they shuffled through the main living space and back towards their bedroom. His arm was around Steve’s shoulders and his head rest lightly against Steve’s.

 

“Christ... ya’d think I was old man…” Bucky yawned, his body thrumming with the need for sleep, and his muscles tightening.

 

Steve snorted indignantly. “Ya just carried me over two miles, jerk. _After_ spendin’ all day with me walkin’ about Coney Island _and_ being stuck on the Wonder Wheel… and I know ya didn’t sleep last night after… I’d be worried if ya _could_ keep goin’. Come on, Buck. Inta bed with ya.”

 

Bucky didn’t notice it while it was happening, but sometime between the living room and their bedside, Steve had clearly taken the lead. Now, standing at the side of their lumpy little mattress, Steve suddenly muscled him. Bucky lost his balance as Steve shoved him and he fell onto the bed, face first, with a laugh. He rolled himself over onto his back as he chuckled, looking up at Steve with affectionate amusement. “I’m still dressed, pal. I ain’t sleepin’ in my trousers and shirt – not in this heat.” He started to push himself upright again.

 

Without thinking, Steve sat on the side of the bed and reached out for Bucky’s shirt. He started unbuttoning the garment, keeping his eyes locked on his task. Beneath him, Bucky’s breath faltered slightly in his throat. This wasn’t the first time Steve had undressed Bucky – but usually Bucky was piss drunk. But it wasn’t as though this hadn’t happened before – in fact the two of them undressing the each other happened far more often than would be considered _normal_ for childhood chums. That’s what tended to happen though when one of them was sickly and often plagued, and the other over-indulged on whisky at times.

 

But after what had happened earlier that night, the loving kiss that had lit his insides until the love shone, illuminated, out of Bucky’s every pore… well, it was strange to have Steve opening the buttons of his shirt.

 

Steve tugged the tails of Bucky’s shirt out of his trousers, and finally opened the last couple of buttons, before he pushed it off of Bucky’s broad shoulders. When the shirt fell into a worn and soft puddle of Desert Sand cotton, Steve picked it up and set it aside on the night stand. And Bucky thought he was safe.

 

Steve shifted himself onto his knees, balancing on the edge of the bed, while his fingers dropped to the top of Bucky’s pants – where they were belted at the narrowest point of his strong torso.

 

“What… Stevie-“

 

“Ya _Just_ said ya don’t intend to sleep in your whole kit. And you’re exhausted… I’m just helpin’…” Steve swallowed tightly.

 

Bucky nodded his head quietly and hummed a quiet sound of understanding, and assent. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing – far from it… only that it was a little fast considering they’d only _just_ kissed about five hours passed. And, more than anything, his body was aching and the stress of the last twenty six hours was starting to ebb away… he was on the edge of being deliriously tired. Instead of saying any more, Bucky laid back and stretched his arms out behind his head – his back arching off the mattress slightly as he did.

 

With Bucky’s hips lifted in the air, Steve had a flash of nervousness. He focused on unbuckling the narrow, one inch wide, belt that Bucky was wearing. Once the buckle was undone, he slowly pulled it out of the trousers’ belt loops, and tossed it over the nightstand with the discarded shirt.

 

“I can get the rest myself, Stevie.” Bucky hummed softly as he settled into the mattress again. His voice was soft, already a little sleep heavy. “Ya don’t have to do anythin’ else.”

 

Steve shook his head. “’S’fine, Buck. Not like it’s the first time I’ve stripped ya down before bed…”

 

“No…” Bucky nodded with agreement as he snuggled into the pillow – and suddenly realized that the stuffed bear that he’d won that afternoon for Steve was sitting just above the pillow. He looked up at _Jamie_ and smiled gently.

 

Steve’s deft fingers popped the button of Bucky’s trousers open, immediately bringing the man’s attention back to him. His thin fingers grasped the tab of the nearly hidden zipper, and slowly slid it down with a soft, metallic, _snick!_

 

Balanced almost over Bucky, Steve couldn’t help himself. He leaned down, slowly and without warning, pressing a quick and almost chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips. Bucky barely had time to register the kiss, before Steve’s lips moved down and kissed the dimple of his now scruffy chin, before he moved down again; laying soft and _almost_ timid kisses against Bucky’s neck. His hands carefully framed Bucky’s ribs through the sweat-damp cotton undershirt as he slowly and carefully swung one leg over Bucky’s, until he was straddling Bucky’s thigh.

 

Bucky leaned his head back further into the pillow – opening up more of his throat for Steve – as he panted softly. His hands were under the pillow beneath his head.

 

Steve pressed his lips softly into the hollow at the base of Bucky’s throat, and reveled in the soft groan it elicited from the man. He’d wanted to do that for years – to see if the spot was a sensitive as he suspected. He moved down another inch or so, and tenderly kissed over Bucky’s clavicles and the faint dusting of his chest hair above the open collar of his undershirt. He felt Bucky panting beneath him – heard the few quiet and breathy moans of pleasure as his chest rose and fell.

 

He pulled back suddenly from Bucky, lifting himself off of his lap. His hands skimmed down Bucky’s sides from his ribs and pushed his trousers down over his hips, before he got off of the bed. Standing on the floor for leverage, Steve pulled Bucky’s trousers the rest of the way off, and tossed them on the nightstand.

 

Bucky pushed himself up into what was mostly a sitting position, his arms braced behind him to hold him upright. His hair was mussed from the pillow, and his pink lips parted as he breathed softly. “You’re a punk, Steve Rogers.” He shook his head as he regained his breath.

 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh wickedly as he crawled over Bucky and into their bed – slotting himself this time between the wall, and Bucky. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Buck.” He grinned up his friend, teeth glinting and eyes flashing.

 

“Really? Nothin’? Nothin’ at all about guidin’ a man who can barely walk ta his bed, just ta get him outta his kit so ya rile ‘im up a bit?”

 

Steve shook his head and shrugged innocently. Bucky gave him a dark and skeptical look.

 

“Uh-huh… well, tell ya what, pal…” Bucky turned on his left hip to face Steve, as his hands found the smaller man’s waist. He dragged him in close, into the warm hollow created by his posture, and brushed his lips against Steve’s ear. “If ya don’t mind me sleepin’ half of Saturday away… I’ll give ya _whatever_ ya want, tonight…”

 

Steve shivered – a tremble of pleasure flooding down his spine and out through all of his extremities.  He really couldn’t believe he was here – that he was so intimately snuggled with Bucky. That _this_ moment existed, and not just in his fantasies. He swallowed tightly around the tightness in his throat, and tried to find his voice. “Yes…” it was little more than a breathy whisper, but Bucky had heard it clearly.

 

Holding onto Steve’s hips, Bucky shifted their positions, until Steve was lying mostly upon his back, and Bucky laid over him. His thigh slipped between Steve’s, as he pressed his weight onto the mattress through his knees, keeping it off of Steve’s slight frame. Their breath was mingling in soft little pants as their bodies settled against one another. Steve’s hands drifted up. One settled on Bucky’s back, while the other pushed back through his slightly curling dark hair. He brushed his mouth against Bucky’s, half asking for a kiss and half demanding it. Bucky closed the miniscule distance between them, capturing Steve’s lips in a tender but fervent kiss. Lips tingling and tongues grazing without intent as their hips rocked together in a shallow motion.

 

Bucky eased back out of the kiss, redirecting the attention of his lips softly across the side of Steve’s jaw as he slowly kissed his way to his ear. His body continued to subtly rock and grind with Steve’s. His eyes were closed, his breath softly panted, as his lips brushed against the shell of Steve’s ear. “Tell me what ya want, Stevie.” He tilted his head a little more, and started to kiss his way down the line of Steve’s jumping pulse; his slight scruff scratched lightly against the tender flesh of his neck.

 

Steve’s hips rolled automatically against Bucky’s – the erection he’d had earlier called back to attention at the mere proximity of the man he loved. He groaned softly as he carded both hands back through Bucky’s rich, dark, hair. The slight irritation from Bucky’s beard was pleasant as his soft lips covered every inch of his neck and throat.

 

The warm weight of Bucky on top of him, pressing him lightly into the mattress, mixed with the heady mixture of Bucky’s familiar scent and the feeling of his mouth against his rapidly pounding pulse, was almost too much for Steve. With a moan he dropped his head back, his fingers still knotted in Bucky’s hair. Eyes pressed closed as Bucky focused his attention at the base of his throat, Steve finally managed to find his voice. “You… just you.” He panted. “Just want you…”

 

The answer made Bucky’s body vibrate with delight. He grazed his teeth over Steve’s throat and nipped at his flesh – eliciting another soft moan from the man lying beneath him. He eased himself back on his knees, and grabbed the hem of Steve’s undershirt. He pulled it up and off of him and tossed it aside before Steve could complain about Bucky pulling away. Instead, Steve’s fingers immediately dropped to the hem of Bucky’s undershirt, and followed suit – pulling it off of the man and tossing it aside before he pulled Bucky down – one arm looped around Bucky’s shoulders, while the other wrapped around him so that his hand was on the back and opposite side of Bucky’s neck as he dragged him in for another desperate kiss.

 

Their bodies settled together again, only separated by the two thin layers of their shorts, as the hot and slick glide of their mouths together mimicked the motion of their hips. Steve held onto Bucky tightly and groaned into his mouth as he felt Bucky’s erection slide up the crease of his thigh. The thin cotton fabric separating them dulled the sensation, but not enough to remove the pleasure of it – of being able to feel Bucky like this. To feel the heat and weight of him so close and yet so far. Steve shifted his hips impatiently, hoping to catch him on the next roll of his hips. It worked; Steve made an unholy sound from pleasure as Bucky’s hardened cock pressed a firm stroke against his own through the cotton. His fingers bit into Bucky’s shoulders as Bucky rolled his hips and stroked against him again. His hands held Steve’s hips in place, and he sucked on Steve’s lower lip softly.

 

His entire body was aching, but thrumming as pleasure coursed through him. It took everything he had not to throw control to the wind and tear off the last offending garments that separated them – just to feel Steve’s flesh pressed against his, grinding their bodies together to find release. But, after the strong asthma attack of the night before, Bucky wasn’t willing to push too far – not tonight. Besides, they had only _just_ declared their love for each other, officially – even if this _was_ what they often fantasized about. No matter how badly he wanted to let go and snap his hips harder and faster against Steve, he wasn’t willing to cause another attack. Instead he kept rolling his hips and thrusting at an unyielding, but slow, pace – feeling their cocks stroke together with every thrust.

 

Steve’s hips were rolling uncontrollably – looking for more contact, begging for more friction, as he drew nearer to his peak. He was panting, but Bucky could still recognize the tone as being in the safe range – and, to be honest… sharing a single bed for the last three years… it _wasn’t_ the first time that he’d heard those particular pants. Steve shifted again, trying to feel more as his hands scrambled at Bucky’s back – but it just wasn’t _enough_.

 

“Buck… Buck _please_ …” he moaned breathlessly as Bucky’s infuriatingly slow pace continued.

 

Bucky was panting hotly against Steve’s throat as he flexed his hips. “I’ve got ya, Stevie…” he murmured lowly – the whisky-toned gravel of his voice sending another shiver down Steve’s spine and bringing him closer to the edge. He released his grip on Steve’s hips – pressing his left hand into the mattress to keep him elevated enough, while his right hand trailed slowly down Steve’s torso. His fingers barely skimmed and caressed the soft, pale, skin of his belly. Finally, his hand made it down to the waistband of Steve’s boxers. He turned his hand, and gently cupped Steve’s bulge. He stroked through the fabric with his hand, as he continued to thrust against Steve.

 

The warmth of Bucky’s palm against him – stroking the underside of his erection and pressing lightly against his testicles – almost sent him over the edge. He threw his head back, his back arching up off of the bed as he pressed himself further up against the delicious friction. He’d been so wound up all night that it wouldn’t take much longer. Bucky’s clever hand and rolling hips would have him spiraling off the edge in a matter of moments. Instantly, his hand shot down, and he wrapped his hand around Bucky through his shorts. Bucky growled softly in pleasure, and Steve shuddered at the feeling of Bucky’s chest rumbling against his as he rubbed the man through his shorts.

 

It was too much – the weight of Bucky against him, the warmth of his body, and the exhilarating knowledge that it was _Bucky_ here with him – _Bucky_ in his hand, and whose hand worked him as they ground themselves against each other.

 

“Buck! I can’t – I’m gonna-“ Steve gasped, desperately.

 

Bucky shifted his weight forward onto his shoulders as he pressed in closer. His hand never stopped working, and his hips never stopped thrusting against Steve’s. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Steve’s earlobe. “Come on, _baby_ …” he purred.

 

The unexpected pet name caught Steve off guard, and pushed him over the edge. He came – his hips jerking stiffly as Bucky tightened his grasp slightly to draw out his orgasm. Steve sank his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder in a desperate effort to muffle the shout of ecstasy that was spilling out of him; his fingernails of his free hand bit into Bucky’s back as his other hand desperately scrabbled against Bucky’s erection – trying to bring him over the edge with him.

 

He wasn’t far behind - Steve’s teeth clamping down into the meat of his shoulder, mixed with his frantic fondling of him and the barely contained cry of pleasure, had Bucky following after him a moment later – his whole body going taut as his orgasm crashed over him; his breathing was ragged in Steve’s ear as he slowly came down. He eased his hand away from Steve’s shorts, as Steve eased back from him.

 

A moment later, Bucky flopped back down onto his back beside Steve on the narrow mattress. They were panting, and sweating, but glowing. Bucky laid there a moment, until he’d regained his breath. Lifting his head, he glanced down at himself, and saw the mess. Pushing his hands down his hips, he skinned off the now ruined boxers, and tossed them towards the hamper – Steve followed suit.

 

A little overwhelmed at the day’s turn of events, now that they were lying naked together in bed, they unconsciously reached out for one another. Their hands met in the middle, their fingers entwining as they just held onto each other’s hand for a long expanse of quiet.

 

But, heart rates returning to normal, and slight shyness passing as the exhaustion started to steal over them once more, they fell into the same habit as every night. They curled into each other, wrapping arms around the other and pulling them close for warmth and comfort, slowly drifting to sleep as they snuggled into the tiny space they’d made for themselves against the other’s warm body.

 

When Steve awoke early in the afternoon, Bucky’s head was resting against his chest. He snuffled, still mostly asleep, as he cuddled furthered against Steve. His arms were wrapped around Steve’s torso, and his legs were tangled with his. Holding Steve like a precious teddy bear.

 

Steve smiled – his chest flooded with affection as Bucky held him tightly. He turned his head slightly, and nuzzled Bucky’s dark hair as he stroked his fingertips over Bucky’s bare deltoid. Steve really didn’t really want to move, to break the spell that was cast the night before. If he could just stay here a little longer, holding onto Bucky like he was his life force – like he was his anchor to the world... He nuzzled a little closer, burying his face into Bucky’s hair as he breathed in the slightly salt-touched pomade scent that still lingered in the locks, despite the pomade having long been sweat out.

 

“I need ta wash my hair, pal… can’t smell too hot.” Bucky mumbled into Steve’s chest as he shifted his position slightly.

 

“Nah, ya smell like sweat-salt and Brylcreem…” Steve hummed contentedly. “But I’m dizzy with ya…” he laid his cheek against Bucky’s crown.

 

Bucky hummed, and the sound of it rumbled through Steve’s chest. “Ya say that now, but if I came home smellin’ like a fishmonger’s dog… ya’d throw me outta bed in a flash.”

 

Steve started laughing, shoving Bucky off of his chest. “There’s a difference between _your_ musk, and the garbage smell ya’lways come home stinkin’ of… excuse me for not wantin’ my bed stunk up like three day old fish.”

 

Bucky shrugged with a grin before he stretched himself out like a cat in the sunbeam that fell from the mostly-closed curtain and over their bed. He flopped over onto his back, folding his arms under his head as he beamed up at Steve. “Mornin’ Stevie.”

 

Steve swallowed tightly, and smiled back. A slight well of nerves coming up again. “Mornin’ Buck…”

 

“Whataya want for breakf-“ Bucky stopped himself, and checked the watch that he only then realized was still on his left wrist. “… make that lunch.” He chuckled.

 

Steve shook his head a little. “Doesn’t matter much.”

 

“Well, _I_ need coffee… so I guess that means I’m gonna have ta run ta Mr. Marcellino’s Convenience, since I used the last of it the other night.” Bucky pushed himself slowly up from bed – his muscles still sore, but nowhere near how they had been the night before. “Ya want anythin’ else from there?”

 

Steve thought for a moment, while Bucky redressed himself in yesterday’s clothing, but finally shook his head. “Nah… just the coffee. Could use a good cup a’ jo.”

 

“Mmkay… ‘ll be back in a bit.” Bucky leaned down and kissed Steve’s forehead, right beneath his hairline.

 

Steve’s eyes slid shut the moment Bucky’s soft lips touched his forehead. He suddenly wondered why he’d not fessed up sooner – years sooner – they could have been sharing this gentle affection long before now. Well, among _other_ things. “Be careful.” Steve murmured automatically – the way he did every time Bucky left the apartment.

 

“Always, pal.” Bucky grinned, but ran a hand back through his heat-curled hair to fix it as best as he could, before heading out of the bedroom, and finally out of the apartment.

 

When he returned forty-five minutes later, Steve was out of bed and washed – currently scrubbing the top of the range free of the specks of spilled coffee from two nights passed. Bucky carried the brown paper bag into the kitchen, and set it down on the small amount of counter space that they had. He pulled out the red, 1lbs, can of Lion Coffee and set it on the counter under the cupboard it would later be housed in, before returning to the bag.

 

“Hey, ya want me to cut the bag up for paper again, or are ya set for a while?”

 

Steve shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

 

Bucky snorted loudly as he set his fist on his hip and shifted his weight, tilting his hips as he leaned against the counter. “Not what I asked, punk.”

 

Steve grinned sheepishly as a pink flush settled over his features. “D’ya mind?”

 

Bucky heaved an exaggerate sigh and shrugged his shoulders – acting like he was _truly_ put upon. “I _guess_ not.” He cracked a grin as he teased Steve. “Hand me the scissors? I’ll sharpen them while I’m at it.”

 

Steve nodded and dug into the drawer by his left hip, pulling out the pair of kitchen scissors and the ball of tin foil they used to sharpen the blades. He passed both over to Bucky, before turning back to cleaning the range.

 

Bucky glanced at Steve over his shoulder, and took another item out of the paper grocery bag, before he folded it flat and cut the folds off, leaving a couple of large sheets of brown kraft paper for Steve’s artistic use. He quickly sharpened the blades of the scissors, and set them and the tin foil ball back into the drawer, before sidling up behind Steve. Wrapping his arms around the shorter man, he lightly slapped the last grocery item he’d fished out of the paper bag against Steve’s belly to get his attention. “Happy early birthday, Stevie.”

 

Steve’s brows furrowed as he looked down at Bucky’s left hand against his abdomen – he could feel the shape of a rectangle under Bucky’s palm as it pressed against him. “What’s-“ he caught the chocolate bar as Bucky released his hold on it.

 

It was a Baby Ruth candy bar… and it cost a nickel. Steve’s eyes widened slightly. “Buck-“

 

Bucky shrugged a little, before kissing Steve’s cheek from his place over his shoulder. “It’s your birthday weekend, and I wanted to. Don’t argue.”

 

Steve sighed out an exhale and smiled at Bucky. “Alright… but we’re splittin’ it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if that wasn't the smut that anyone was expecting. I had a COMPLETELY different story planned, but they kind of... took it in their own direction. I swear these two write themselves. But yeah... it was a bit fluffier than I expected. But, that's probably good for a very first time. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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